


This is Carbon

by revolutionbarbie



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Grantaire, Asexual Enjolras, First Meetings, M/M, Student Enjolras, accidental jacket stealing, intern Enjolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:04:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionbarbie/pseuds/revolutionbarbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’ve got the same Hawke & Co. jacket. It appears that you accidentally took mine from the couch of ZuZu last night, and left yours. Mine had my keys, which I clearly need. Yours had an avocado in the pocket, which I’m assuming is equally important.” </p><p>(Because lbr who didn't see this post on Tumblr and automatically think of their OTP?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday

Enjolras had told Courfeyrac time and time again that nothing good came of going to ZuZu’s on a Friday night. The first time he had been there, dragged along by Courfeyrac (of course) during their first week of being dorm buddies, someone far drunker than he had bumped him on the stairs and shattered his phone. The second time he had met Combeferre, from which had bloomed a beautiful friendship. Unfortunately, he only met Combeferre because someone had hurled a slur at the bartender (who he would later learn was called Jehan) and Enjolras had tackled him into a table, sending punches flying. Combeferre had pulled Enjolras off the man, and explained that while he agreed with the sentiment, getting himself arrested was a bad idea, and that Jehan was more than capable of dealing with the issue themselves. 

The third time had resulted in the Great Hangover Incident of 2015, which yes Courfeyrac, was ZuZu’s fault since they were offering $1 shots until midnight. The fourth time, Courfeyrac had been engaging in a friendly wrestle with his new friend Bahorel when the barstool had slipped out from underneath him and he’d head-butted the bar hard enough to send him to the ER at 2am. Enjolras had been out of his mind with worry, pacing in the waiting room, until a nurse popped his head out and told him that Courfeyrac would be fine, and he just needed a few stitches. 

Nine months after the visit to ER and Courf had insisted they go out again. They had of course been to bars in that time, but ZuZu’s had always been kept off the list. Since they would all be leaving college soon and potentially going in different directions when that happened, Courfeyrac wanted the three of them to revisit the place they had met and reminisce about old times. (And if, four drinks in, Courf got a little teary-eyed about it then Combeferre and Enjolras were good enough to not mention it.)

The entire night, Enjolras was waiting for something bad to happen. Perhaps for the ceiling to cave-in, or for a SWAT team to crash in through the windows. He was surprised then, that they made it all the way through to last-call without anything happening. He paid their tab, made sure Courfeyrac hadn’t fallen asleep in the bathroom (again) and helped Combeferre navigate their friend down the stairs. 

It wasn’t until they were half-way to the light-rail that Enjolras put his hands into his coat pockets and realised that his keys were not there. Instead, he pulled out an avocado. Courfeyrac laughed, bent double, wheezing. “Hungry, Enjolras?” 

Combeferre stared at him as Enjolras patted down all of his pockets. “This isn’t my coat.” 

“It’s identical, are you sure someone didn’t just take your stuff?” Enjolras shook his head. He found an organ donor card stuffed in the breast pocket, the name on it long since worn away. 

“This is the same coat, it’s ‘The Grant’, but it’s not mine.” His parents had brought him the obnoxiously named coat before he’d moved for college, considering the $150 price tag he was surprised anyone else at ZuZu’s had the coat, the bar wasn’t exactly known for having a well-off clientele. 

“Was your wallet in there?” Enjolras shook his head. 

“Just my keys, and metro pass. And my USB backups.” He groaned. “I should go back, see if anyone handed it in.”

“They’ll have closed up by now. Come on, you can call them tomorrow. Crash at mine tonight, God knows Courfeyrac isn’t it any state to be in his flat alone.” Courfeyrac had leant against and subsequently slid down a nearby bus stop and made a noise of protest. 

“I’m fi-hic-ne. Help me up, villain.” He flapped his hands at Combeferre. Together, he and Enjolras pulled Courfeyrac to his feet and set off to the light-rail again. 

“I could grab my spare key from yours and then head home.” Enjolras suggested.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Enj. You wouldn’t get home until gone 4am.” 

By the time they had escorted Courfeyrac onto and off of the light-rail, then navigated both the apartment entrance -Courfeyrac wanted to press every buzzer he saw- and then the flight of stairs to Combeferre’s apartment, it was pushing 3.30. They settled Courfeyrac on the sofa, taking off his shoes and coat and positioning his head so that if he rolled over and vomited in the morning it would land in a bucket, not on the carpet. Combeferre set out a glass of water and a box of painkillers for when he woke, and Enjolras pretended not to see the affectionate look he gave the now-snoring Courfeyrac. 

He hung up the imposter-jacket on the back of Combeferre’s door, and sat on the bed to unlace his shoes. Combeferre appeared in the doorway. “Sure you don’t mind me staying over?” Combeferre laughed. 

“You know I never mind you staying over. You’re absolutely making pancakes in the morning though.” He winked at Enjolras and began changing into pyjamas. “Left or right side?” He asked, nodding at the bed. 

Enjolras scoffed. “Right, obviously.” Combeferre laughed at him, now in checkered pyjama bottoms and a heathered t-shirt. 

“I’m going to check on Courfeyrac.” He pulled the door closed behind him, and Enjolras changed into the spare pair of pyjamas that Combeferre kept in the bedside cupboard. He always had three sets of spares, in case of friends staying over. Primarily, in case of Enjolras staying over. Combeferre rapped on the door before coming in. “He’s going to have a colossal headache in the morning, poor guy.” 

“It was entirely his idea. I have no sympathy for him.” Enjolras laughed, claiming his side of the bed. Combeferre climbed in and flicked off the lamp. For a while the room was silent except the faint sound of Courfeyrac snoring. “Y’know, I don’t mind if you sleep in boxers. I know you only wear pyjamas when I’m here.” He mumbled. He heard Combeferre roll over to face his back. 

“And you know that I know that you actually do mind if I sleep in boxers and that you only say that because you hate feeling like an inconvenience. If me wearing pyjamas makes you feel more comfortable then it’s absolutely worth it, Enj.” Enjolras sighed. 

“It’s just so dumb. I know there’s nothing inherently sexual about being naked, I don’t get why it’s just so…” He trailed off, rubbing a hand through his curls. 

“Difficult?” Combeferre supplied. 

“Yeah.” He was silent for a while. “I feel like such a hypocrite sometimes.” Enjolras could tell the alcohol was still in his system, he didn’t usually discuss emotion with Combeferre, even though his friend was happy to listen. “I preach about sexual liberation, about having the freedom to do what we want with our bodies, but I don’t want to do any of it.” 

“You’re not a hypocrite. Liberation goes both ways Enj; having the freedom to do what you want with your body also means having the freedom to not do any of it.” Enjolras was silent for so long Combeferre wondered if he’d fallen asleep. 

“I just wish everyone else saw it that way.” 


	2. Saturday

Courfeyrac was convinced he was dying. He had draped himself across the breakfast bar in Combeferre’s kitchen and was groaning into his arm. Enjolras was standing on the other side of the bar, whisking pancake batter in a bowl and laughing at him. “I told you, ZuZu’s is always a bad idea.” Combeferre poured them all mugs of coffee and topped Courfeyrac’s with a swirl of cream. 

“ZuZu’s was fine. It was great! It was clearly the herd of elephants that trampled me in my sleep that’s the problem.” Courfeyrac grumbled. 

“Have you called them yet?” Combeferre asked. 

“The elephants? No, they don’t have phones.” Courfeyrac snarked. Combeferre elbowed him, laughing. 

“Apparently ZuZu’s don’t open until 7pm, and no one will be in before 6. I was hoping whoever has my coat would search the name on my metro card and get in touch, but there’s been nothing so far.” Enjolras worried his bottom lip. “That USB was pretty important though, it had a lot of work files on it.” 

“They could still get in touch Enj.” Combeferre reminded him, fetching lemon juice and powdered sugar from the pantry. “You’re sure there was no other ID?” Enjolras shook his head.

“I still can’t make out the name on the donor card, and there was nothing in the other pockets except for a flyer for a gallery night downtown. And the avocado, of course.” Enjolras scoffed. 

“Well, it’s still early. There’s no need to panic yet.” Combeferre reminded him gently. 

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac groused, “Normal people don’t get up before noon on a Saturday.” 

 

***

 

If Courfeyrac had been trampled by a herd of elephants then Grantaire felt like he’d had a tower-block dropped on his head. Repeatedly. It was mid-afternoon by the time he rolled out of bed, thanking the deity that was Eponine for leaving painkillers, water and a wax-paper wrapped sandwich on his nightstand. He also found a blue post-it note stuck to the door frame with a smiley face and a hastily scribbled ‘ _so_ _proud of you, bud_ ’ that absolutely did not make his throat catch. 

He trudged into the living room, dragging the blanket off the sofa before curling up underneath it and slowly eating the sandwich. He didn’t remember half of what had happened last night, only that they had started out at the ‘The Bar’ drinking over-priced hipster cocktails and then moved on to ‘Castle Inn’ so that Joly and Musichetta could try out new pick-up lines on the manager there, a broad man by the name of Bossuet. After a few rounds they had convinced their new friend to go with them to ZuZu’s, but Grantaire could remember little about the night from then on, only that it had been loud, and dark and he had been sitting on a couch with his arms around Joly, roaring with laughter. 

His shoes were at the end of the sofa, and his coat had been draped over the arm by Eponine, he assumed. Scattered on the coffee table were several torn out pages of a sketchbook; concept art for his latest exhibit. He had known about the exhibit for months, but had decided to let his friends know only week before the opening night, since he had been convinced something would go wrong.They had insisted on taking him out for drinks to celebrate and as it happened, everything was on track. He just wanted to make a few final touches to the final piece in the collection.

When he had pitched the idea to the gallery, as an exercise in “surrealism”, he had expected to hear either nothing from them, or the distant sound of their laughter. Instead they had called him up and asked him to come down to the gallery to talk about time-scales and payment. He had agreed that the exhibit could be ready in two months. They had given him three, so the other two artists they would be exhibiting would also have time to create new pieces.

Grantaire’s portion of the gallery featured seven oil paintings of traditional or everyday scenes, with just a few alterations to make the viewer uneasy. In one, a family portrait, everything was normal except everyone in the painting had bees coming out of their mouths. Jehan had suggested he call it ‘Stinging Words’. The painting he wanted to finish up was more absurd than surreal but the gallery had liked the concept art. It featured an avocado on a chair in a dimly lit room, and a gentleman stood with his hand on the back of the chair, looking proud. He had planned to spend the weekend adding more detail to the avocado skin. Well, he had planned to do it on Thursday, but had, completely by mistake, eaten the avocado he was using as a reference for breakfast. What could he say, he was a sucker for avocado and egg on toast. 

Eponine had brought another one to The Bar for him, since he couldn’t find any in the grocery stores near his apartment. Once his head stopped splitting, he would open his windows and start mixing some paint. That might not be for a long while though. He downed the painkillers and turned the TV on, flicking to a nature documentary and hitting mute. 

Two documentaries in, and having learnt far more about lemurs than he ever thought possible, Grantaire’s headache had abated, and he hauled himself up to fetch paints from the attached studio. The painting in question was propped up on an easel in the center of the room, masses of once-cream sheets on the floor around it. Oil paints were tricky to get out of carpet, and Grantaire didn’t want to be paying a hefty fine when he switched apartments. Whenever that would be. He’d been earning a steady income for the past year, thanks to increasing exposure at galleries across the state, and while Eponine had suggested that he move to a nicer apartment so that he could get a bigger studio space, Grantaire wasn’t convinced that his luck would hold out. 

Still, the room worked as a studio space, even if the lighting wasn’t fantastic. It had been intended as the master bedroom for the apartment, but since Grantaire needed less room for sleeping than he did for painting he took the much smaller spare bedroom and sacrificed the convenience of having an en suite. A bigger apartment could mean better lighting, and sometimes when he was feeling particularly optimistic Grantaire would search online for loft spaces, with towering windows and skylights and exposed brickwork. That was still just a dream though. Although he could technically afford it, his work came with a lot of uncertainty. He had been working for a while as a part-time history of art lecturer at the local community college, which gave him enough free time and spare cash to pursue galleries, but a loft was above that pay-scale and food was much more of a priority that lighting. Mostly. He could still dream of it though. 

After selected a few base colours, he went to fetch his new avocado, promising himself this time he wouldn’t eat it before the painting was done. Once opening night was over he would take great pleasure in devouring it. When he got to his coat, however, the fruit wasn’t in his pocket. It wasn’t in any of his pockets. Neither was the gallery flyer he’d been showing to his friends, or his battered donor card. Instead he found four keys on a University of Texas keychain, a light rail pass and a collection of receipts. There was also a USB drive in the breast pocket labelled with four exclamation points. Grantaire groaned aloud. He had someone else's coat. Either that or he had accidentally enrolled in college while being black out drunk. 

After stuffing the items back into the pockets he’d found them in, Grantaire trudged over to the coffee table and dialled Eponine. She answered on the third ring. 

“Hey bud, you doing okay?” He hated himself for the fact that she sounded worried. Like she was so used to getting bad news from him. Especially after he’d been drinking. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m all good. Was about to finish that painting, but I seem to have someone else jacket. Identical too. Don’t suppose you saw who I was sitting with?” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing when it caught in the knots. 

“Shit. Didn’t get a decent look at them, looked about college age though.” He heard a clatter of shoes at her end of the line. 

“Yeah, there’s a UT keychain in one of the pockets. I’ll call ZuZu’s later, see if they’ve had any calls.” He looked over at the studio door. “Don’t suppose you have any more avocados?” 

“I’ll pick a couple up and come over, we can have the rejects for lunch.” She suggested. “Was there no ID?” 

“Just a light rail pass. I’ll grab a shower, make myself presentable, let yourself in if I’m not out by then?” She laughed.

“Yeah, your showers are obnoxiously long. I’ll see you soon.” 

 

***

 

As soon as 6pm rolled around Enjolras was on the phone to ZuZu. No one had handed in his jacket, or phoned to report they had the wrong one. They also didn’t see if anyone left with the same jacket, but assured him that they would call back if they heard anything about it. Both Combeferre and Courfeyrac could tell that he was becoming agitated. His could have new keys cut, and get a new light-rail pass, and while it would be a hassle to collate all his files again it wasn’t a major inconvenience. 

No, Enjolras was more concerned about the content of the USB than the prospect of replacing it. While he studied law full-time he had also been offered an unpaid, part-time internship with Harrison and Bromley, one of the top firms in the city. He knew that the work they did was sometimes grimy, but had been confident that he wouldn’t be dragged into it. He was right, for the most part. His work entailing fetching coffee, making copies and taking notes in meetings so that his boss didn’t have to pay much attention to the details. He didn’t mind it so much, it gave him a look into the inner workings of the firm. 

He began to mind though when one of the middle managers asked him to type some reports for them. He had been asked to do similar work before and usually it was mundane, and involved collecting and retyping various documents to send a complete report to the client. This time however it was an advisory report to a debt collecting agency on how they could collect on out-of-statute medical debt without being sued. Technically, once debt was out-of-statute it was no longer owed, but as long as the company put in small print the fact that it wasn’t actually owed, they could still harass the debtor for the money. It had infuriated Enjolras, and he had made backup copies of all the documents in the report, planning to send them to several newspapers when he had sufficient evidence. While what they were doing wasn’t illegal, it would still raise a lot of hackles and cause a PR nightmare for them, which was something at least. 

Of course now the USB drive was missing. 

If someone looked on it, and saw the files, and understood that they were confidential they could tell Harrison and Bromley, and they would fire Enjolras and in all likelihood kick him out of college, and potentially have him sued for breaching confidentiality rules. Combeferre had told him as such when he’d pitched the idea. He’d ignored the warnings, of course, and was now regretting it. He’d forgotten the drive was in his coat, and now it was gone. Someone had the drive. Enjolras just hoped they had no idea what they were looking at. 

“Why don’t you put an ad on craigslist?” Courfeyrac suggested. “At least it’ll get the word out there?” 

 

***

 

By the time they had finished eating -avocado, egg, tomato and bacon wraps were the best idea he’d had in a while- it was late into the evening and Grantaire didn’t have the energy to call ZuZu’s. He knew it was their busy period, and that Jehan wouldn’t be happy if they were answering phones instead of making drinks. Instead, he made Mai Tai’s with little pink umbrellas for himself and Eponine and they put on the most recent episode of the Amazing Race and rooted for yellow team to win. It dissolved into shouting at the television half way through the first drink, and indistinguishable noise somewhere towards the second. 

The reference avocado was sitting safely in his studio, Grantaire would have to start working on it in the morning. He would have liked to have finished it by now, as the closer it came to the deadline the more stressed he became, but spending a Saturday night on his couch with Eponine was a worthy excuse. Once he had seen yellow team reach the mat, Grantaire got up to find ice-cream and Eponine reached for her phone, checking to see if either of her siblings had been in touch. Instead she had a message from Joly, with a link to craigslist and several question marks. 

She clicked the link, and once she had read the ad she started laughing. “Oh Grantaire you have to see this! The avocado has been found!” She waved her phone behind the sofa until he took it out her hand and read it aloud. 

“ _We’ve got the same Hawke & Co. jacket. It appears that you accidentally took mine from the couch of ZuZu last night, and left yours. Mine had my keys, which I clearly need. Yours had an avocado in the pocket, which I’m assuming is equally important._” He laughed. “Of course it’s important!” He clambered over the back of the sofa, holding the phone up to his face. “I should reply.” 

He tapped away for a minute before handing the phone back to her. She looked to see what he’d said. “ _I have your coat and your keys. Julie’s Breakfast Bar, Sunday, 11am. Bring the avocado_. Wow, way to not sound like a serial killer.” He huffed.

“I’ll have you know I sound like a kidnapper, not a serial killer.” 

“Oh I’m so sorry.” She snarked. 


	3. Sunday

“I’m not sure that this is a good idea.” Combeferre stood in the doorway of Enjolras’ living room, having given the man his spare key to get inside. “How do we know he isn’t just someone messing with you?” 

“Well I wont know until I get there, but on the off-chance that he’s actually got my stuff, I should go.” Combeferre frowned. “If you’re really worried you can come too. Have brunch with Courf and intervene if he looks like a serial killer?” Enjolras suggested. Combeferre appeared to mull it over.

“Sounds like a plan!” Courfeyrac interjected, “I haven’t had brunch in ages.”

“Good, we should get going. I’d rather get there early than risk missing them.” Courfeyrac cleared his throat.

“I do have one question though.” Enjolras made a noise in the back of his throat to show he was listening as he led them into the corridor. “How will you know who it is? If they don’t walk in waving the coat around you might not spot them. Julie’s is pretty big.” 

“I have no idea.” Enjolras sighed, locking the door. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll see me first.” 

“Eh, if you were lucky you wouldn’t be exchanging an avocado for your keys.” Courfeyrac said, “And let’s not forget that the USB drive that could wreck your entire academic career is in the hands of someone who brings an avocado to a bar.” 

“Thanks, Courf, really appreciate the support.” Courfeyrac grinned at him. 

“Anytime, buddy, anytime.” 

 

 

After thoroughly scanning all the occupants of Julie’s Breakfast Bar, the trio had come to the conclusion that he was early and Enjolras had sat down in plain view of the door, with the avocado on the table, much to the confusion of his waitress. It was only after he took another look around the room that he realised how many couples there were, and that his repeated glances at his watch were causing more than a few people to give him pitying looks. Well, if his accidental jacket thief was a man this could get very interesting, they weren’t exactly in a liberal bastion. Enjolras practically sprung up in his seat every time the door opened, before sinking down disappointedly when he realised they didn’t have his jacket. 

He began to worry that Combeferre had been right, and that the person who had replied was just messing with him. Then at 11.10, a man walked in with ‘The Grant’ draped over one arm. He took a swift glance around the room before halting on Enjolras. His face pulled up into a grin when he saw the avocado on the table and he walked over and dropped himself into the chair opposite. “Hi there. Nice fruit.” Enjolras smiled. “I’m Grantaire.” He held out a hand for Enjolras to shake. 

“Enjolras. You’re late.” He reminded Grantaire. The man opened his mouth to reply when the waitress came back to ask if they wanted to order drinks. Grantaire smiled at her, and Enjolras took a moment to absorb how attractive he was. Maybe not in an entirely traditional sense, sure, his hair was wild dark curls, a little too unruly to style, and his nose had been broken a few times, leaving it with a permanent crook, but that smile was to die for. 

“I’ll have a mango and passionfruit smoothie, please.” Grantaire glanced at him as the waitress wrote down his order. 

“Just an orange juice for me, please.” She nodded and walked away. “So, when did you notice you had my coat?” Grantaire scoffed. 

“Oh I noticed the moment I saw it. See, I actually have ‘The Grant’ in black, and this,” He held up Enjolras’ jacket “is carbon.” Enjolras was silent for a long moment, staring at the two coats. Sure, there was a difference, but barely, especially considering how dark both the bar and the street had been. 

“Are you…” He hesitated, catching the mans gaze. “Are you for real?” The man, Grantaire, held his stare for a few tense seconds and then laughed, leaning back in his chair. 

“God no, could you imagine? I’m just messing with you.” Enjolras felt his lips tugging into a smile. “Nah, I didn’t notice until I went to get my avocado and found your keys instead. My friend, Eponine, found your ad and showed me.” 

“Can I ask then, it’s been bugging me all weekend, why did you have an avocado in your pocket?” Enjolras asked as they swapped jackets. 

“The food at ZuZu’s sucks. I might have wanted a mid-drink snack.” Grantaire replied, dropping the fruit into his pocket and zipping it up. Enjolras stared at him again, frowning slightly. 

“You…you’re messing with me again aren’t you?” He asked. Grantaire gave him another shark-grin, it was becoming a little dizzying to see how his entire face lit up.

“Absolutely. My friend brought it along for me, as a reference for a painting.” At Enjolras’ bewildered look he continued, “That doesn’t sound any more normal does it? I’m doing a few surreal paintings for a gallery downtown, I’ve never actually painted an avocado before, so I figured I should use a life-reference, but they don’t sell them near my house and I ate my other avocado so my buddy, Eponine, brought one with her for me, and then I managed to lose it.” 

“I suppose that’s as good a reason as any to have an avocado.” Enjolras laughed. “The gallery that your exhibiting at, is it the one that you had the flyer for?” 

“Yup, the St James Gallery, down on Park Street. Opens on Friday, it’s very nerve-wracking.” Grantaire confessed. 

“I’m sure you’ll do great. Everyone loves avocado, right?” Grantaire smiled, glancing down at the table, and Enjolras swore he saw a blush begin to dust his stubbled face. 

“Thanks, I hope so.” The waitress returned with their drinks and after taking a slurp, Grantaire leaned it. “So, what do you study?” 

“Law, at UT. I’m also interning at Harrison and Bromley, a law firm. Nothing as exciting as surreal avocados.” He laughed. 

“Well of course, surreal avocados are the backbone of society.” Grantaire responded, leaning back with a smug smile. “Although I’ll bet law is a lot more lucrative.” Enjolras scoffed. 

“Yeah, maybe when I get past the unpaid internship stage.” Grantaire raised a brow. 

“They don’t pay you? Wow, that’s rich, considering how much they must earn.” Enjolras sipped his orange juice. 

“I know. It’s ridiculous how large corporations can take advantage of people, especially students, the full-time intern hours are absurd.” He agreed. “They know that legislatures wont support bills which require they give interns basic wages because if they support them, then the corporation will threaten to leave the state, or to pull financial support from the legislatures party. They basically buy the right to not pay their interns and if that doesn’t work then they move on to threats.”

“If only our entire system of government wasn’t based on who has the capacity for bribery.” Grantaire agreed. 

“It will change.” Enjolras stated, “There’s no reason for it to be this way. Only a minority benefit from the way it is, and they can’t stop reform forever.” Grantaire felt the corner of his mouth twitch involuntarily. 

“There is a pretty big reason for it to be this way; most people are selfish, and most people are apathetic. Given the opportunity, who wouldn’t turn a blind eye to the financial hardship of others in exchange for a stack of cash? You can overhaul the legislatures all you like, but the new ones will be the same as the old ones given enough monetary incentives. And sure there might be the occasional upsurge of outrage, but people are too busy and too apathetic to dedicate more than a few hours to changing the system. It isn’t right, but people don’t care. And as long as people don’t care then the minority have free rein.” Enjolras raised an eyebrow. 

“Are you saying that you would take bribes if given the opportunity?” Grantaire shrugged in response. 

“I’m not proud of it. But I’m a realist, Enjolras. I know what it’s like to not have money, so being offered financial stability in exchange for looking the other way, well, it’s not a terrible deal.” Enjolras shook his head and stood up. 

“Then you’re no better than the scum in charge now. People do care, and there will be reform. Maybe you just don’t want to see it, because you’ll be on the wrong side of it.” He gathered up his coat and stormed out of the bar, leaving Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who had been enjoying pancakes on the other side of the room to stare after him, bewildered. Grantaire put his face in his hands and groaned loudly before signalling the waitress to pay for the two drinks. 

“Well done, Grantaire, you did good buddy.” He mumbled to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't beta read, so....thoughts?
> 
> You can find me at revolution-barbie.tumblr.com. 
> 
> (Also please don't eat me, I'm using wiki and brief mentions from American friends to infer what the light-rail is and how it operates, I'm thinking it's similar to the tram system in the UK? Let me know if you know.)


End file.
